Mystique's Inner Turmoil
by ronin's love
Summary: Mystique is trying to adjust to being a 'normal' human when things begin to change.
1. Chapter 1

-1_I touch myself at night when I think of him. I used to become him and run my hands over myself. He's refused me time and time again. So much, I've begun to hate him. I think of the look in his eyes right before he pushed me away the time I came to him in his tent._

I think of the way his body stiffened beneath mine when I ran my tongue over his ear. In the stillness of night, I like to think he responded out of something besides disgust but then daylight returns and I know the truth.

I am a human. A mere human. He wasn't interested in me when I was his equal and now…well I am no longer his equal. 

I throw the notebook across the room, cursing the shrink I've been assigned. All mutants who received the cure unwillingly have been issued, at the government's expense, a psychologist. A head doctor. A shrink. Those responsible for Alcatraz and the events leading up to it were all so afraid we would sue or worse, they were doing anything and everything to keep us subdued. Bread and circuses. I laughed. Like any of us could afford lawyers. Few of us even had the heart left to vote, much less fight.

Just yesterday, as I was leaving Dr. Yaani's-what a name, like yawny, as in very boring-I passed someone who I assume was his previous client. This guy had a mutant tattoo across the right side of his face and down his neck. I assume it continued to his back but even before the cure I didn't posses X-ray vision so I can only assume. He didn't carry himself like he was still proud of his tattoo. His eyes never left the carpet, which is just as well. I have had about enough with guys ogling me.

I _was_ beautiful. My skin was a rich blue with glistening scales in a darker blue. I had glowing yellow eyes, their contrast with my skin a sight to see. I had red hair, which I kept short and slicked back. I never wore clothing, my scales covering the more, um, erogenous zones of my body. I had a lover. I had power. I had a purpose.

Now, I was just like everyone else. Well, not just like everyone else. I am apparently more pleasing to human males than others as I can't walk down the street without hearing cat calls and whistles. There was a time when I got a kick out of tricking men; appearing as someone I wasn't to arouse them, make them want something they couldn't have. Now it was just a day to day headache.

And now I am just me. I have black hair and boring blue eyes. My skin is a horrible pasty white which, if I don't slather with sunscreen before venturing into the sun, turns into a blistering red mess. I can't change my appearance, at least not without surgery or some other such drastic measure. I get cold in the winter and hot in the summer. My body no longer adjusts to temperature the way it once did. My jeans chafe and my underwear bunch.

Speaking of which, I check to make sure my roommate is out and after locking the door, strip down to my birthday suit. Horrible as it is, it's better than being covered in layers of someone else's skin. That's how I described my aversion to clothes to Dr. Yanni.

I pick back up the journal and walking into my room, threw it on the nightstand. Ronnie, my roommate, hates it when I leave my stuff out. I sprawl on the twin bed, wishing I didn't have to go to work in twenty minutes. Part of the governments attempt at reintroducing us to humanity was us getting jobs. So, for the first time in my life, I am holding a job in my given name, Raven Darkholme. Raven. Wouldn't have been so bad if I'd chosen it but I hadn't. It was thrust upon me when I was born. Of course, I looked normal at birth. All first generation mutants look normal at birth. It's only the second and third generations that look like mutants when they are born. Lucky bastards.

I've been a senator's aide, a senator myself, a weapons manufacturer, a hooker. Heck, I've been the famous Wolverine on more than one occasion.

I like to think about our fight at Liberty Island. The look on his face when I hit him time and time again. He was surprised every time I slipped past his guard. He'd been so easy those first couple of encounters. He did catch me off guard the night he almost bested me. I remember how he smelled, cigars and a new leather uniform. He smelled of sweat. He ran his claws up into my chest, puncturing a lung but not much else. His breath had been hot in face as he cut me down, his brows creased and lined. I remember the look on his face. No remorse. No guilt. Simply doing his job. That's Logan's way, or had been until they made him soft.

I break away from my train of thought, realizing how late it's gotten. I have to be at the store in less than ten minutes. I quickly dress, pulling on black slacks and a white button up shirt. I grab the ghastly black bow tie they make us wear and pin my name tag over my left breast. I look up into the mirror. "Hi! My name's Raven! How can I be of service to you today?" I sneer at my reflection. I shake me head. What have I come to?

I lock the door behind me, thinking again how pointless to lock a door that's no stronger than cardboard but Ronnie insists. She's totally paranoid. If the government didn't make me live with her, I wouldn't.

If the government didn't make me keep this job, I wouldn't. I couldn't stand smiling at all these stupid people. I am not a naturally cheerful person and Mr. Wyatt's continual harping to, "Smile. Smile. Smile," was not my idea of good leadership. Give me a megalomaniacal, power-hungry, psycho who I could really get behind. Someone I could really follow.

But such people aren't allowed anymore. They've either been 'tamed' like Logan or 'neutralized' like Erik. Tears spring unbidden to my eyes when I thought of Erik. I'd loved him. I'd followed him. I'd rescued him from prison. I'd stepped in front of a bullet for him and what did I get in return?

I got left.

Because I wasn't one of 'them' anymore. And now we were again equals. I'd watched in horror as the newsman read from his script. He'd been so happy. So proud of humanity for defeating the great Magneto. What did that little pimple have to be proud of? He couldn't have defeated a class one mutant, much less come against Erik. It was Logan and Dr. McCoy who'd defeated Erik. Brought him down to my level.

I often think of finding him. I fantasize about what I will say if we happen to run into each other but I don't know what will happen. Part of me wants to run into his arms and let him lead me again. Another part wants to ignore him, pretend I don't recognize the old man before me. But the largest part wants to hurt him. I want him to experience the rejection I felt as he left him in my mobile prison, having gotten the information he came for.

I can't decide how to hurt him, though. If I'd been successful the night before Alkali Lake, I would tell him all about it, but I don't think telling him I got turned down is the best way to show how much I didn't need him then and don't need him now.

I walk out the front door and walk into the oven of Kansas City summer. It's hot. It's humid. I curse again the lottery that sent me here. I feel sweat running down my back before I'm a block from my building. Luckily, the grocery store is less than a mile away and it's not long before I step into the coolness of air-conditioning. The store smells slightly of old meat and body odor. The floor is sticky and the carts broken. Hey, no one said the government had to get us good jobs.

I walk back to the office, ignoring a fat woman's request for help. I hear her swear at me under her breath. Of course she doesn't have the guts to say it to my face. They never do. Homo sapians. Cowards and weaklings. My nails dig into my palms and I realize I've stopped in the middle of an aisle, clenching my fists closed. I give myself a small shake and continue to the office.

I clock in and grab a money drawer. Jolene, the assistant manager tries to make small talk but I ignore her. I've gotten good at ignoring her. I know she thinks I'm a racist but her dark skin has nothing to do with my rudeness. I just don't like her. She's always running her mouth. Like right now, she's talking. Ain't nobody listening but she's flapping her jaw. Mr. Wyatt oozes into the office. A slimier human being I've never met. His hair is thin and light brown. He has it plastered to his scalp with enough gel to…to…do something else with. His body folds in on a nonexistent chest. He has no butt, his body totally shapeless. His voice is high and scratchy. I hate him more than anyone else. I feel my blood pressure rise as he address me.

He asks if I remember how to do credit card sales.

Of course I do, you spineless piece of trash I think. I simply nod to him. He goes on to insinuate that I might be stealing from my drawer and that if it continues to happen, I'll be fired. Stupid man. You should never tell people you've almost caught them. I make a mental note to not slip any bills into my pocket for a couple of weeks. It's alright. I already have over $1200 in bills stuffed in an old sock in the back of my closet. I'll pick up where I left of in a couple of weeks. 

I head to the front of the store, the checkers there no doubt ready to go home to their meager little lives. Of course, look who's talking. At least they have friends and family, pathetic as they might be.

I wonder where the remaining members of the Brotherhood are. Sometimes I miss the scheming and planning. I worry sometimes about what will happen to me if the succeed in taking over. Will John remember me? I saw his face when Erik left me there, laying naked on the floor. He didn't approve. He thought they should take me with them. Had he risen to the greatness we'd seen in him or had he reverted to being a petty criminal, like he was on his way to being when we rescued him from Xavier's clutches?

Mr. Wyatt is calling my name. I can't ignore him; he signs my checks. He tells me to smile more and not be such a sour face. I can't help it, I laugh in his face. He has no idea. He sputters and begins to turn red. He says I need to show more respect and have some gratitude. His voice drops to a whisper, his words meant for me and me alone. If I don't straighten up and follow the rules, he says, I'm going to find myself without a job and, he continues, he just might let it slip that I was an ex-con and a previously dangerous mutant.

He's threatened stuff like this before so I don't know why today is different but it is. My vision gets hazy and I feel my face flush. His pupils widen and he takes a step back. I can feel the fear radiating off of him. A smile forms on my lips as I take a step towards him.

You think you can get to me don't you? I ask him. He doesn't answer but lifts the clipboard he's holding. Like it's a damn shield. You will never get me to crack, I say. I thrust my money drawer into his hands telling him to hold it for me.

I stomp into the bathroom, my breathing heavy. I put both hands on the sink, my knuckles turning white as my grip tightens. I feel the anger and rage coursing through my body and I like it. I see him in my mind's eye, his little beady eyes, his pockmarked face. The way his thin lips curl when he talks. His voice grates on my ears. Show some respect, I mimic, his voice echoing in the silent bathroom.

I stop, my heart beat the only sound I hear. I look in the mirror. Staring back at me is a pair of gray beady eyes, rimmed by Mr. Wyatt's skin. My body is my own but the face looking back at me is Mr. Wyatt's. Slowly, his face morphs into mine. Well, it's almost mine. It looks like my face in structure but it's color is wrong. My pale face has a definite blue tinge to it. My heart races. I can't go out there with blue skin! Why the hell is my skin blue?

My heart skips a beat. No, I tell myself, it's impossible. The thought returns unbidden. Maybe the cure…no. The cure is permanent. Everyone knows that. Besides, I wasn't the first mutant to receive it. If it wore off, we'd have heard about it by now. Still, I think.

I look into the mirror again. Still not perfectly white but I think I can get out of the store without getting lynched. I straighten my clothes, trying not to hope against hope that I'll soon be free of their restricting presence. I start to straighten my bow tie but come to a decision instead. I pull it off and throw it in the toilet. Hope you plug things up, I tell it.

I walk out of the bathroom. Mr. Wyatt is standing outside the office, still holding my drawer. I walk past him without so much as glancing his way. I hear him call after me but I continue to walk away.

There is only one place I know of to get answers about mutations besides the government and I think they've done enough. Showing up at Xavier's isn't my idea of fun but I don't know what else to do. I need answers and to be honest, I'm tired of being the bad guy. Maybe they need help up there. I could…hack computers for them. Or help students into their rooms when they've gotten locked out.

Okay, maybe I don't have the greatest resume but I can't stay here any longer. Some things going to happen and I am a survivor. So I am going to go somewhere where I will be safe. I just hope they'll listen.

And maybe I'll see Logan.


	2. Chapter 2

I stand at the gate, indecision haunting me. It's been years since I was here last and decades since I've come as myself. I take a deep breath and start up the gravel driveway. The mansion looms above me, the ivy covering its walls green and lush in the evening sun. The front lawn is deserted and I am grateful. There are only a few people here I respect enough to deal with and if I have to talk to anyone else I'm liable to snap.

I climb the stairs to the front door, my feet feeling heavy, my heart nervous. I mentally berate myself for caring about how these people might react. If only I knew what the hell was going on. If the cure was failing, the media sure wasn't talking-if they even knew about it. No one was going to give me a straight answer so I had to come here, to the people who had stood between me and all I'd believed in, time and time again. I cross the patio with its wrought iron chairs and tables and cutesy little umbrellas, my sneakers silent against the stone floor. I raise my fist to knock on the door when I hear a voice...his voice.

"Need something, darling?"

I turn, feeling my face flush like a schoolgirl and cursing myself for it. He's sitting in the shadows, almost invisible but for the glowing end of his cigar. I stand silently, suddenly unsure of myself and what kind of reception I might receive. I have a sudden image of him lunging at me, impaling me upon his claws, feeling cold adamantium pierce my body. I wait for him to make a move, wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans. He stands and takes a step toward me.

"Hey, are you alright?" I don't know how to answer him so I remain silent. He takes another step towards me, the night breeze carrying the scent of his cigar. He hasn't aged a day since I saw him last. "Can I help you find someone?" He raises his eyebrows, seeming genuinely confused by my silence.

"I need to talk to Char...who ever's in charge," I finally manage to say, my voice sounding strained to my ears. _What is he playing at? Why is he acting all friendly and helpful? Like I'm just some woman knocking on their door?_

"That'll be Storm. I'll take you in." He stubs out his cigar against the stone banister and drops it into a planter, and grins a little at me. He steps forward to take my arm and then pauses. I see his nostrils flare and hear him sniff the air and then his hand is clamped around my bicep like a vice. He slams me up against the door, his breath hot in my face. I can see every whisker on his face. I think I could have counted his eyelashes if my head hadn't been spinning so. Apparently, my scent hadn't changed with the cure.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He shakes me again, rapping my skull on the door again. I open and close my mouth, feeling like a damn fish. I hear his claws extend with a _shnck _and my blood runs cold. The trio of scars on my right side seem to burn with the memory of his strike.

"I...I just..." All conscious thought flees my head and I simply stand there like an idiot staring at Logan and trying to think of a way to explain my return that won't end with me bleeding my life away.

He leans closer, his chest pressing against mine and whispers in my ear, "You harm one person on this campus and I'll tear you apart." I try to push him away, his breath in my ear turning my knees to jelly. "No more scars for you, Mystique." My breath hitches in my chest and I despise him for his mastery over me and I desire him for it as well.

"It's Raven," I say softly, dropping my eyes.

"Yeah," he answers, stepping back, still gripping my arm, "I'll bet it is." He pulls me off the door and swings it open. I would like to pause and let my eyes adjust to the dark but he pushes me forward, propelling me down the carpeted entryway. I see blurs of opulence and art but not much else until I'm unceremoniously thrust into an office. Logan, maintaining his ironclad grip on me, stomps across the room and pushes an intercom button on the desk. While he pages Storm, I look around. This used to be Xavier's office but now it appears to be Storm's. There are satellite pictures of hurricanes on the walls and books of African history on the bookshelves. The desktop is neurotically neat, nothing out of place except a small medallion, with tribal markings along the edge. I start to reach for it, my curiosity over-riding common sense. Logan's grip tightens and I stiffen a gasp of pain. Tears, unbidden, unwanted spring to my eyes and I blink them away, willing Logan to not notice. He notices.

He presses his claws, still extended, up under my chin and whispers, "Storm's going to talk to you. I don't care what you are now, human or mutant, I'll kill you just the same if you so much as raise your voice to her. And if I think you're lying, I'll kill you. If you threaten us in any way, I'll kill you. You tell her what the hell you're doing knocking on our front door and then you're going to get the hell out of here."

Suddenly, the injustice of it all hit me. I mean, yeah, maybe I had tried to kill his little charge...what was her name? Rogue. Yeah. And maybe I'd rescued their arch-nemesis from prison and attempted to kill all human kind. And maybe I'd stolen the information on the source of the cure, providing Magneto and his army with the invaluable information they needed to attack. And maybe, just maybe, I'd tried to kill Logan on more than one occasion, in between moments of unsuccessful seduction, of course.

But still, isn't a person allowed a second chance? I haven't broken any laws since I was given my pale skin and weak humanity. At least none that I know of.

So anyway, my patience snaps. I look Logan in the eyes and stand up straight, ignoring the pressure of his fingers grinding the muscles of my arm against the bone. "I'll talk to Storm and I won't threaten her or you, but I'm not leaving. I need answers and you people are the only ones who can give 'em to me."

He pulls me closer to himself, the smell of cigar and a cool evening spent outside filling the air between us. He starts to say something when the door bangs open. He freezes, but doesn't let go of my arm or remove his claws from my throat.

"Logan," Storm says, her cultured voice cutting across the stillness. Logan glares at me and I just can't resist - I give him an air kiss. His grip tightens slightly on my arm and then he steps away from me, releasing my arm like I'd burned him, his claws sliding back into his forearms with an angry snap. I want to rub my arm, needles of fire stinging up and down the length as blood rushes back into it.

"Mystique." Storm crosses the room slowly. She's not afraid of me but she's not arrogant either. She's weighing the situation, readying herself for any tricks I might have up my sleeve. I wish for a moment that I had something tricky planned. I mean, they are so ready it seems a shame to disappoint them with the truth. "Not someone I expected to see tonight. Aren't you supposed to be in the Midwest somewhere? St. Louis or something?"

"Kansas City, actually," I answer, impressed at their knowledge of my whereabouts. I feel a bit of pride at being important enough to be kept track of. I wonder who's been doing the monitoring. Turning my back on Logan, I turn to follow her progress across the room. She motions me to a leather chair facing her desk. Ignoring Logan's unflinching gaze, I take a seat as Storm slides behind the desk and drums her fingertips on the tribal medallion.

"Kansas City huh? You're a long way from home tonight. About 1000 miles past your probationary borders, wouldn't you say?" She leans back in her chair, the brilliant sunset shining through the windows behind her tinting her white hair pink.

"One thousand one hundred and fifty-eight to be exact," I answer. I lean back in my chair, forcing my body to relax. Trying to resist the urge to put my feet on her desk, I tell my story, sticking to the facts. I don't need Logan's claws in my back to remind of his superior senses. There was a time when I would have trusted my body to mask the scent of lies but now...well, I'm not going to take the chance.

When I finish, Storm steeples her fingers together and rests her lips against them. She closes her eyes, contemplating. She looks ever inch the goddess princess she was meant to be, residing in serenity over her humble subjects. Logan stands up behind me and strides forward, glancing at me for a moment, distrust radiating from every inch of him. "You can't honestly believe her, can you?" he asks, crossing his arms across his muscled chest. I am so hungry for...tearing my eyes away from him, I hear Storm's response.

"Was she lying, Logan?" Storm asks him without opening her eyes.

"No, but she's Mystique. She has a...gift." Logan glares at me and I wipe the small smirk off my face, biting my lip to keep from chuckling. It's not a funny situation but the man is almost right. I _had _a gift. And I like hearing him admit it. Storm raises her eyebrows and says nothing. "Storm...," he starts but Storm raises a finger, silencing him.

"Raven," she starts and then pauses, studying my face, my posture, my unintentional body language. "Raven," she starts again, "I need to speak with Logan and the other leaders alone." She takes a deep breath. "I'm not quite sure what to do with you in the meantime." She goes back to drumming on the desktop with her fingertips. She springs forward, having come to a decision, and presses the intercom button. "Rogue, will you get the leadership team in my office, A.S.A.P.?"

Rogue's voice comes back over the intercom, her drawl in sharp contrast to Storm's cultured tones. The team should be up within ten minutes, she answers. Storm stands up and I follow. She walks to the door and opens it. Logan's hand is back around my upper arm. I mentally thank him for holding on to my other arm.

"Take her to the Danger Room. Run scenario 42B. Lock the door behind yourself and get back up here." We turn to go when Storm continues, "Raven, the Danger Room has been changed since you were here last. You will be contained. If you try to override the security system, you will be eliminated. We've had...some issues since Charles died." Her eyes are cold and dark and I wonder what all I've missed since Erik left me in that trailer.

Logan pushed me ahead of him, still holding my arm in a death grip. It was strange walking alone with him, he touching me. I don't understand him. Many men have tried to kill me, many men have been killed by me, a small few have refused me, but none have done all three. He knows I am weak right now, but he respects the ghost in the machine even when the machine is weak. Why is this man, my enemy, more faithful to me than my own lover?

I still don't understand why Logan refused me. I took the form he desired, didn't I? It had never failed to work with Erik all those years. Perhaps, just, perhaps, the lessons I'd learned from him weren't very applicable to this new life and this new world, where powers could be lost and gained.

Before I can think much more on the subject, we reach the door to the Danger Room. I haven't been in there for years, decades even. Logan presses a hand against the fingerprint identifying pad. A small hole opens beside it and he inserts a finger from his other hand. There's no change to his expression but when he pulls his finger back out, there's blood on the tip. The small wound heals before the door opens.

"It takes an authorized fingerprint and blood sample to get in or out." He looks at me pointedly. "You aren't authorized."

"No shit," I answer, annoyed at his explanation. I helped design the security of this school, I think I can figure out the changes without having them explained to me like I'm a child. For crying out loud, I'm as old as he is.

"Yeah, well, I don't want to clean you off the floor, so don't mess with it, okay?"

"You don't want to clean me off the floor, huh?" I step forward, bringing our bodies almost into contact. "Maybe you just want to be the one to floor me."

He snorts derisively and turns to go. I stand in the center of the room, alone, and expect him to look back before he leaves but he doesn't. As the door closes, scenario 42B begins. The metal walls dissolve around me, replaced by a deserted Central Park. The air is a perfect temperature, not too hot and not too cold. I walk over to a bench and sit down. I don't really know what to expect. Is this a training scenario or what? Nothing seems to be happening but I'm not ready to let down my guard.

Logan's voice speaks out of thin air. "You can relax. There's nothing in this scenario more dangerous than you."

"And I'm just supposed to take you at your word?" I ask, wishing the intercom wasn't so lifelike. It gives me the creeps.

There's a moment of silence and then, "Yeah. I don't lie." I raise an eyebrow and wonder if this guy is for real.

Not really sure what else to do, I lean back and stretch my legs out in front of me. I close my eyes and memories flood my mind. Memories of this room. Flirting with Erik and Charles. Erik surprising me during a solo training session. A night of passion deciding which man would claim me as his. Why didn't any of the flirtations and seductions I'd used on Erik and Charles even phase Logan? The man never even seemed to notice my naked body. Not even that first time at Liberty Island. Usually I at least get a blink or an appreciating eyebrow life, but Logan never once looked at me in any way except how to stop me.

Why? Why was he so immune to me? Maybe he was a little gay. I don't know. I sigh. I know the Danger Room is probably still fully monitored by video but I am tempted to disrobe anyway, just to shake things up. I start to undress but stop, suddenly unsure of my motivations. I don't really have to go around naked all the time, do I? Was it for me or for Erik that I did? How much of my thoughts were learned because they made the man I loved happy and how many are truly mine? I don't know. A startling thought hits me. Who would I be if I had met Logan when I was a young woman, and before his mind had been broken? Magneto kept dossiers on all the known mutants. I probably know more about Logan than the X-men, with their insipid love of doing things the legal way, know themselves. I wonder what it would it would have been like to be with him before the Great War, before Magneto, before anyone.

I button my fly and plop onto the bench. I feel like a child in time-out while her parents hammer out her punishment. I lay down, resting my head on my arm. I've been up for almost two days straight. I'd taken buses and flights, cabs and trains. Mass transit sucks your soul and I'd been on it more in the last few days than I hope I'd ever be again. My eyes drift shut. I am vulnerable and I know it but my eyes will not stay open. The X-gene has so many effects, one of them being increased endurance. I had gotten used to being able to stay up for days on end. Now I was a walking zombie if I didn't get sleep within twenty-four hours. I wonder what they're talking about? Will they let me stay or will they turn me over to the authorities for breaking my probationary boundaries? They could get into trouble for harboring a Cure Rehabilitation Program fugitive. As I drift off, I remember the falling asleep in warm arms and wonder if I'll always sleep alone.


End file.
